"Oh dear me, yes … it's this tobacco smoke, it will make its way in here. Our lodger lives in there, a very pleasant young man, but he smokes all day long. Do you also smoke? Please don't hesitate to do so on my account; it tastes so well with the coffee, they say. We have lodgers, otherwise we could not keep the flat going, you know, and when one is accustomed to good living.… But it has its disadvantages, as now, this tobacco smoke. Of course one can get lodgers who smoke less, or who are not so much at home … there are even those who do not smoke at all, but there might be other objections. Dear me, Mr. Fenger, there are so many bad men in the world! As, for instance, this lodger, there is not much to say against him. He always pays me, even if he is sometimes a month late, but, good gracious, there are also those who do not pay at all. I have had plenty of them; they clear out suddenly, with promises, of course, that they will come and pay.… Oh, dear me, bad people, Mr. Fenger!"
I again began to stare at the irritating portrait, and suddenly burst out with—"What a beastly modern artistically decayed ass!" And Mrs. Jagemann, who saw what I was looking at, began at once to praise the portrait.
"Yes, that's a portrait of my Minna, as you can see. It is really very good, almost as good as a photograph. Oh dear me, yes! What wonderful skill! What they can do nowadays, Mr. Fenger! In America they can now take photographs in colours, so the papers say. My goodness, what will happen to the poor painters? What are they to do? Art moves on, the one flies higher than the other, one's death is the other's bread, as the saying is. By the way, it was painted by a countryman of yours; he was also one of our lodgers.… Mr. Stephensen was his name; he lived here for six months."
